


Hearing Voices

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-09
Updated: 2006-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm thinks he's going mad. But is he? (03/10/2006)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This story is modeled, in no small part, after "Distraction", written by Lacey McBain. "Distraction" was a Stargate: Atlantis story. With her permission, I've taken elements of her structure and story and adapted them for use in Enterprise as a way to try something different with my own writing. So anything about this story that seems similar to hers was done intentionally.  


* * *

Trip stumbled through the darkness towards his door, no idea how long the knocking had been going on. His hand hit the door panel and he squinted against the sudden brightness, his room flooding with light from the hallway. "Yeah, yeah?" he said breathlessly, trying to make out the face of the person at his door through sleep-blurred eyes.

"Trip?"

"What?" Trip muttered, moving aside to allow the person entry before he realised that, One: it was Malcolm and Two: as if it wasn't odd enough that Malcolm was showing up at his door in the middle of the night, then Three: it was even odder that Malcolm, "Mr. Military" himself, had just called him "Trip". Usually he spent half their conversation trying to get the man to stop addressing him as "Commander" or "Sir." So, whatever that meant, it couldn't be good.

The door shut and cut off the light from the corridor, so Trip triggered the room lights low. "What is it, Lieutenant?" he shot back over his shoulder. He made a feeble attempt to straighten up his bed before he gave up and plunked down on it, leaning back against the wall and running a tired hand across his face. He cast a surreptitious glance at the clock at his bedside and he had to stifle his groanâ€”03:00. He watched Malcolm hesitate before lifting several padds off the only chair in the room, placing them carefully on the floor before sitting, facing Trip.

It was Trip's first chance to get a really good look at him, and what he saw surprised him, and made him sit straighter. It was the middle of the night, so seeing Malcolm in, basically, sweats and a tee shirt didn't surprise him. It was the unkempt hair, the tired eyes, the tension in his posture, but perhaps most shocking of all, Malcolm's bare feet that clued him in that something was seriously, seriously wrong.

"What, Malcolm?" Trip said, using the man's first name deliberately.

Malcolm looked down and ran a quick hand through his hair, which only served to make it stand up further. He looked directly at Trip, his eyes gone grey in the dim light. "I think I'm going mad."

"Okay," Trip said, drawing out the word. When Malcolm didn't continue, he sighed. "Are you planning to tell me why you think that, or were you just going to show up in the middle of the night, declare that you're nuts, and then, what? Suggest a video?

Malcolm gave him a shaky smile. "From your collection? Not likely." He gave a slight shiver and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Hey, you want aâ€”" Trip stood suddenly and stepped to his bureau, pulling out an old sweatshirt and some socks. He held them out towards Malcolm with a soft, "Here."

Malcolm nodded, looking slightly sheepish as he shrugged himself into the clothing. "Thanks."

Trip nodded, settling himself back onto the bed. "So, talk."

Putting on the final sock, Malcolm pulled his feet up onto the chair. Wrapping his arms around his legs, chin to his knees, he frowned. "Perhaps it's notâ€”"

Trip could tell that Malcolm was regretting, hell, a lot of things: his choice of words, coming here, so he said, "Listen, I'm not going to go running off to Archer or Phlox or whoever. We can keep this confidential. Unless you're about to go off half-cocked and get yourself or someone else killed. Which you aren't, right?"

Malcolm bit out an exasperated, "Of course not."

"Good. So..."

Malcolm stared down at his clenched hands. "I'm hearing..." he let his voice trail away, then finally said with a shrug, "...things."

"Things," Trip repeated cautiously. Okay, he thought. I guess we can call that progress. "What sorts of things?"

Malcolm looked up at him. "I'm not sure, actually," he said, speaking slowly and carefully. "Voices, maybe."

Trip wasn't quite sure what to make of that, so he decided to ask some basic questions. "More than one?"

Malcolm nodded. "I think so. I can't quite make them out."

"Dreams?"

Malcolm simply shook his head, not quite meeting Trip's eyes.

"When did this start?"

"A few days ago. At first I only heard them when I was sleeping, so I did think it was part of my dreams. But now..." He rubbed a hand across his face, and Trip realised just how exhausted he really was. "Now they're constant."

Trip leaned forward slightly. "How long has it been since you've slept?"

Malcolm shook his head again. "That's not it."

"How long, Malcolm?"

Malcolm sighed. "A couple of days."

Trip raised an eyebrow. "It might be that."

"What?"

"I'm no doctor or anything, but I've read where sometimes, if a person is sleep deprived, they can start hearing and seeing things, even when they're awake." Trip lifted a hand, tracing a pattern in the air. "Their dreams sort of merge into their awake time, if you know what I mean."

"I don't think so."

"No?"

"They're what's keeping me up!" Malcolm spat in frustration. At Trip's look of surprise, he grimaced. "Sorry, sorry," he said, his voice now low. "They started before I stopped being able to sleep. And it doesn't feel like a dream."

Trip decided to try a different tack. "Are they speaking English, orâ€”"

"I told you I don't know," Malcolm said, standing suddenly. "This was a bad idea. I shouldn't haveâ€”"

Trip stood and reached out, grasping Malcolm by the arm. His friend looked up at him, the fright and frustration clear in his eyes. "Can you hear them now?" Trip asked, his voice soft.

Malcolm hesitated, then finally nodded. "All the time." He sounded exhausted. "I hear them all the time."

* * *

It had taken Trip some time to convince Malcolm to go to sickbay. Once there, their conversation with Doctor Phlox went about as well as Trip had expected, with Malcolm slumped exhausted on the biobed, murmuring a series of soft, clipped answers in response to Phlox's questions.

Archer came in and Trip stood from the chair where he was sitting. The captain gave a tight nod to Malcolm, then waved Trip away until they were out of Malcolm's earshot.

"How's he doing?"

"He seems all right." At Jon's look of doubt, Trip shrugged. "I mean, for someone who's hearing voices."

"Phlox said that they've been getting worse."

Trip nodded. "Yeah, that's what Malcolm told me. Phlox hasn't found anything wrong with him yet."

"Could there be an external cause?"

Trip sent a worried glance in Malcolm's direction. He looked slightly lost as he sat there in Trip's oversized Florida State sweatshirt, his feet still clad in Trip's white socks. "I blocked his access to our systems, just in case, um..."

"Good," Jon said.

"I have a team running diagnostics, focusing first on Malcolm's quarters. If something's affecting him, we'll find it."

* * *

Once Archer left and Phlox finished his examination, Malcolm simply sat on the biobed, staring down at his hands. Trip watched as his friend's fingers worked the edge of the sweatshirt, tracing its frayed edge, his focus inward.

Trip stepped to Malcolm's side. "What'd the doc say?"

Malcolm jumped a bit, then looked up at Trip. "Sorry?"

"Phlox. What'd he say?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Not much. Just asked a series of questions, took some readings..."

Trip made as if he were looking over Malcolm's body. "So, he hasn't stuck any alien slugs on you, or asked you to eat any blue worms or anything?"

Malcolm gave him a half-smile. "No. At least, not yet."

"Well, that's good." Trip turned serious. "Still hearing the voices?"

"Yeah. Although..." Malcolm's voice trailed off, and he looked distracted.

"Malcolm?"

"I'm listening...yeah, they seem...less, now. Somehow." He looked up at Trip. "Maybe because I haven't been so focused on them."

Trip nodded. "Maybe...Hey, I have an idea. Will you be all right here for a few minutes?" At Malcolm's answering nod, Trip patted his arm and took off for his own quarters.

* * *

Trip returned to sickbay just a few minutes later, device in hand. Malcolm was still sitting on the biobed and staring blankly off into space. He looked â€“ Trip paused in the doorway. In Trip's oversized sweatshirt, hair mussed, dark circles under his eyes, he looked helpless. Lost.

Trip took a step forward, then another, finally stopping in front of Malcolm, directly in his gaze. It was like Trip wasn't even there â€“ Malcolm didn't move, didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Hey," he said softly, trying not to startle Malcolm. When he didn't get a response, he brushed a hand against his friend's knee. "Hey," he said, louder.

Malcolm blinked quickly, his eyes now focused on Trip's. "Sorry, I was..." He frowned and closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. "...Listening." He shook his head. "It's louder. Giving me a headache."

"I brought something that might help," Trip said, holding out the device in his hand.

"A music player?" Malcolm said, obviously confused.

"Yeah. It seemed like the voices bother you less when you're talking to me, or to Phlox â€“ you know, when you're distracted. So I thought this might help." At Malcolm's look of doubt, he continued. "Or it might not. But it can't hurt."

Malcolm smiled gratefully and took the offering. He lifted an earpiece to one ear and triggered the "on" switch. After a moment, he grimaced. "This is yours, yes?"

Trip nodded. He looked down at the device and, reading the screen, blushed slightly as he grabbed the player out of Malcolm's cupped palms. "Sorry 'bout that," he said softly. "Um, my sister gave me that recording, err..." He scrolled through the song list. "Here, this you might like better," he said, handing it back to Malcolm with a sheepish smile.

Malcolm listened a moment, then nodded. "Thanks."

"De nada," Trip replied.

* * *

Trip spent the rest of the morning going through systems checks with Hess. They started by reviewing what had been found in the lieutenant's room â€“ aka "nothing", and went on to analyse the diagnostics done on the ship itself.

"Everything checks out, Commander," Hess said, slumping down onto Malcolm's messy bed. They'd decided to come back and do one more last-ditch pass of Malcolm's quarters. "Nothing wrong with communications, nothing out of place in the circuitry, nothing, nada." She looked up at Trip apologetically. "Sorry, Sir."

Trip nodded, his attention elsewhere. If Hess couldn't find a cause, then...he didn't want to believe that this could all actually be in Malcolm's head. That was just something that he wasn't sure he was ready to face. Not yet.

As if reading his mind, Hess said, "I'll recheck our readings."

Trip nodded, grateful.

* * *

"I found nothing in the Lieutenant's physical evaluation that would cause any sort of auditory disturbance," Phlox said.

"Nothing?" Trip echoed, glancing at Malcolm. His friend was sitting on the nearest biobed, the earpiece from the music player still in one ear, his normal "impatient with sickbay" expression plastered over his face. But his eyes, his eyes held a hint of desperation, and Trip suddenly realised that Malcolm was barely holding it together.

"Not yet," Phlox replied, his customary smile missing.

"And he's not dreaming, or anything like that?"

"No, that doesn't appear to be the case."

Trip dropped his voice, to be sure that Malcolm couldn't overhear. "So, the voices might just be, what, in his head?" At Phlox's nod, Trip felt his stomach drop. It was one thing to think that himself, but to have the doctor concur...God. He ventured what he hoped wasn't true: "So, he could be mentally ill?"

"That is a possibility. Whatever the cause, he does seem to be handling the situation fairly well, so far. At this point I don't see any immediate danger to himself, or others."

Trip gave a short, sharp nod.

"I do have several tests that I need to run, based on the scans I've taken. It may take a while."

"Does he have to stay here for those?" Trip asked.

The doctor's smile finally began to form. "I suppose not, but he should return if his symptoms change, or get worse."

Trip nodded briskly and walked to the biobed. He held a hand out towards Malcolm. "Come on."

* * *

Trip slid a plate in front of his friend and sat across the table from him. At this point, they'd both missed both breakfast and lunch, and he'd had to scrounge through the kitchen to put together bits and pieces left over from both meals.

For a moment, the only sounds in the empty mess were the clink of cutlery against plate as Trip dug into his eggs. Taking another hearty mouthful, he looked up to see Malcolm drawing patterns in his food with his fork, eyes unfocused, the earpiece from the music player still in his ear.

Trip watched him for a moment, then put down his fork. "Is that helping?" Trip asked, waving his hand towards the device.

"Sorry, what?" Malcolm saw what Trip was looking at, and smiled. "Yes, actually, it is. Thanks." He glanced down at his plate and stabbed his mashed potatoes with his fork, shifting them on the plate before setting the fork down with a frustrated sigh. "Although they're still there." He looked up at Trip, his eyes blazing. "It's getting worse."

"In what way?" Trip asked, leaning forward across the table, feeling lost and helpless.

Malcolm shut his eyes. "They're getting louder." His eyes flashed open, pinning Trip in his gaze. "...they're all I can hear sometimes, despite the music. And they're just..." he lifted a hand briefly. "...there. Just beyond my reach. It's like, if I could just focus, really focus, I might understand what they're trying to tell me."

* * *

It was in one of Archer's staff meetings that Trip finally figured it out. Well, actually, Hoshi figured it out, but Trip was the one who'd literally jumped out of his seat, running from the room with the realisation.

* * *

Trip leaned back in his chair, trying to stifle another yawn as they used some meeting time to run through Malcolm's situation yet again, none of them wanting to believe that which was seeming more and more likely â€“ that the voices were a sign of mental illness, and that whatever the actual cause, the symptoms were getting progressively worse.

Trip was exhausted, barely functional. He'd been working frantically over the last two days â€“ between his normal shifts, he'd spent hours evaluating, then re-evaluating the ship's systems, trying to find answers. He spent his down-time with Malcolm, feeling useless as he watched his friend slip further and further from them, from him.

"We haven't been able to find a physical cause," Phlox said from across the table, and Trip forced himself to focus on the conversation.

"Maybe it's not physical," Archer said. He stood and started pacing the narrow meeting room. "Trip, any progress on an external cause?"

Trip shook his head. "We've been through the systems again and again. We've found nothing."

T'Pol asked, "Could it be coming from outside Enterprise?"

"What?" Hoshi asked. "Like some sort of signal?"

Trip leaned forward, about to dismiss the idea, but he froze. A signal. Maybe, that might be...Of course. He was a complete idiot. Why hadn't he thought to check for that sooner?

He stood suddenly and hurried out of the room, heading straight for Hoshi's station. Once he reached it, though, he simply stood there, his hand hovering above it. He was unsure of where to start, too tired to even begin.

He felt someone step beside him, and looked down into Hoshi's eyes.

"Let me, Sir," she said softly. "You should go, talk to Malcolm."

Trip smiled briefly. "Yeah." That much, he could do.

* * *

Trip rushed to Malcolm's quarters to tell him the latest. When he got there, the door was locked, and he could hear music pulsing through the walls.

Overriding the lock, he opened the door. Music rushed out, swirling past him in a flood of sound and he stepped inside quickly, shutting the door.

His brow wrinkled in worry when he realised what was going on. Malcolm was sitting on his bed, facing the wall, his back to Trip. As Trip watched, Malcolm leaned forward and slowly, gently pounded his head against the wall, in time to the music. Pound, pound...

By the third strike, Trip had crossed the room and touched him on the shoulder. Malcolm jerked away and scuttled across the bed, eyes wide and breath harsh.

Trip signalled the music to a lower volume. "Malcolm?" he asked. When he didn't receive a response, he said it again, louder. He carefully, cautiously sat on the edge of the bed, far from Malcolm, but directly in his line of sight.

"Trip," Malcolm finally answered with a brittle, false smile.

"Are you okay?"

Malcolm cocked his head to the side, seeming to think for a moment. "No," he finally answered, his voice slightly shaky. "I don't think so. No."

"Okay â€“"

"I can't sleep," Malcolm said before Trip could continue.

Trip nodded. "We should get you to sick â€“"

"No, no. I just need a distraction," Malcolm said, cutting him off again.

"The music isn't working any more?"

Malcolm winced. "They're all I can hear," he said, his words tumbling out in his haste. "All I can think about. Awake, asleep, it doesn't matter. Voices, spiralling in on each other, rising and falling. It's like I should understand them, but...I just need a little time...maybe if I could sleep, or...I need..."

Trip nodded. "Come with me." When Malcolm didn't move, he held out his hand, grabbed Malcolm's arm, and pulled. "Come on. I have an idea."

* * *

As Malcolm stood in the middle of Trip's room, seeming confused and more than a bit lost, Trip turned down the lights and turned on his sound system. He picked some dance music, then cranked it up loud, really loud. As the pounding beat filled the small space, Malcolm looked at him like he was the one who was nuts.

"Dance," Trip ordered, hands on his hips.

When Malcolm didn't move, Trip gave him a slight push, and started dancing himself. "Dance," he said again. "Come on."

Malcolm continued to look at him like he was an idiot. And maybe he was, but this was the only thing he could think of.

"Listen," he said, ceasing his movement. "It's all consuming and physically exhausting. It might work. It certainly can't hurt." He raised an eyebrow. "And I promise not to tell anyone that I actually saw you dancing."

"No one?" Malcolm said, smiling slightly.

"Not a soul."

Malcolm nodded and, throwing caution, his reserve, and his inhibitions to the wind, started dancing.

An hour later they'd both fallen asleep, exhausted.

* * *

The comm. went in the middle of the night, but Trip got there before the buzzing woke Malcolm. "Yeah?"

"I may have found something," Hoshi said across the line.

"I'll be right there."

Trip rushed to the bridge, going directly to Hoshi's station before he'd even looked up at the rest of the people on the bridge. When he finally did, he nodded at Donna O'Neill, third shift duty officer, in surprise â€“ he'd had no idea of the time, and was surprised to find it was so late.

"Working late?" he asked, ducking his head back to Hoshi.

Hoshi looked up at him from her seat and shrugged. "I found something." She smiled. "A signal. It's very faint. It's coming from here," she said, pointing to her screen.

"Isn't that the Cekate system?" Trip asked, his surprise apparent in his tone.

Hoshi nodded.

Trip triggered the comm. "Captain?"

"Yeah," Archer replied in a groggy voice.

Trip knew he'd just woken the man, but this was too urgent to wait. "You better get up here."

When the captain arrived on the bridge, Trip quickly explained about the signal and where it was coming from.

The captain looked at him in shock.

"What?" Hoshi asked, her eyes moving from the captain, to Trip, and back again.

"Do you remember when Malcolm had been captured on Vejce?" Trip asked her.

Hoshi nodded.

"That was the Cekatians."

"Oh," Hoshi replied softly. "Oh! You think they might have done something?"

"Yeah," Trip replied.

Archer nodded to Trip. "Get him to sickbay."

Trip was already moving by the time Archer started barking orders.

* * *

Trip slapped open the door to his quarters and rushed in, almost tripping himself when he froze by the doorway. Malcolm was lying on Trip's bed, obviously awake, but he was just â€“ he was staring up at the ceiling.

Trip took a slow step toward him. "Malcolm?"

When Malcolm didn't respond, didn't even move, Trip went to him, sitting beside him on the bed. "Malcolm, can you hear me?" When his friend didn't react, he waved a hand in front of Malcolm's eyes. Nothing, not a flicker. He frowned and stood, going to the comm. Just as he raised his hand to raise sickbay, he saw Malcolm give a soft sigh. After a moment, his eyes closed.

Confused, Trip walked back to Malcolm's side and knelt down beside the bed. "Malcolm?" he asked. He watched as his friend's chest rose, then fell. Rose, then fell. Rose, then fell, each time seeming just a bit slower, just a bit shallower than the last.

But that was weird, not possible â€“ Malcolm hadn't shown any signs of anything like that, anything physical beyond the headaches. Trip placed his fingers against his friend's wrist, feeling for a pulse. He counted, and he waited. It was almost imperceptible, but yes, it was there â€“ he could feel Malcolm's pulse slowing under his fingers.

"God, Malcolm," he whispered.

* * *

The next hours passed in a flurry around them. After Trip had rushed to the comm. and called in the emergency, the day had erupted in a swirl of activity as Phlox's team worked to stabilise the lieutenant.

Apparently, Phlox had prescribed Malcolm some sedatives the day before. And apparently, that had been a "Very bad idea," Trip had practically shouted at the doctor. In his confusion or in his desperation to muffle the voices, Malcolm had taken too many.

"By accident?" Trip asked the next time Phlox stepped through the privacy curtain he'd pulled around Malcolm.

Seemingly unfazed by Trip's earlier outburst, the doctor smiled kindly. "I think so. There were still plenty left in the bottle. If he'd intended..." He left the rest unsaid.

Trip nodded and let his eyes drop to his hands. His fingers worried his cuticles, tearing small cuts as they went, and Trip watched the movement. It was odd â€“ it was like the fingers didn't belong to him, like he wasn't in control of them at all.

God, he was tired.

After a moment, he realised that the doctor was speaking.

"He'll recover â€“"

"Can I stay?" Trip asked, barely aware that he was interrupting.

"Of course."

Now Malcolm was hooked up to what seemed like every monitor and device Phlox had on hand. Trip sat in a nearby chair watching him, glad to see the steady, even rise and fall of his chest. And with each steady breath, Trip's heart beat out a litany: Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

* * *

Trip could barely focus, his ability to concentrate a victim of too little sleep and too much everything else. Between shifts focused entirely on evaluating the signal with Hoshi, he had been spending his time with Malcolm in sickbay, leaving little time for meals, sleep or anything else.

Malcolm had been going back and forth between coherence and near-catatonia for the better part of a day now, and Trip was so ready for all this to be over. But first, he had to stay awake through this meeting. Which again, was focused on Malcolm.

"So, the voices?" Archer asked, leaning forward across the table.

"Caused by the signal," Hoshi answered.

The captain turned to Phlox. "And the physical problems â€“ the lack of sleep and so on?"

"We believe those are also caused by this signal," said the doctor.

T'Pol interrupted. "But it is likely that the physical effects are not intentional. Our testing shows that this signal would not have the same effect on Cekatian physiology."

"Malcolm had said that the voices were trying to tell him something," Trip added, running a weary hand through his hair.

Hoshi nodded. "I think he's right, in a way." She pulled up a display, its glow bright against the dull grey of the wall. "The signal shows a clear pattern, almost like a language."

Archer watched the screen for a moment, the graphic representing the signal undulating across its surface. "So they aren't actually voices."

"No, Sir," Hoshi replied.

Archer nodded. "And he's not..."

Trip finished for him. "He's not crazy."

"Why, exactly, have they targeted Malcolm in this way?"

"We do not know yet," T'Pol answered.

Archer pushed back in his chair. "Thoughts?"

Trip commented before he could stop himself. "Why him?"

Hoshi turned to him. "Might simply have been because he was the one there, the one available." She paused, lost in thought. "Although if it's a signal, it should need a response, right? Maybe it's being used to communicate something to him? Get him to do something?"

Trip shook his head. "If so, it's not very effective. It's pretty much incapacitated him."

"Maybe it's designed to get him to go there?" Hoshi asked.

"To Cekatia," Trip said. He turned to the captain. "Then we should go there."

"That is not a good idea, Commander," T'Pol said. "They had already captured one of us, and damaged him. Going to Cekatia would only serve to expose Mr. Reed, and Enterprise, to more risk."

"But we have to," Trip said to her, then turned to the captain again. "Sure, it's a risk. But this is too damn important." He leaned forward across the table, reaching out with both hands. "We need to get it to stop, and the only way I can think of to do that is to get ourselves down there." Waiting for the captain's reaction, he thought that he, for one, was willing to risk it, if it would help get Malcolm back to normal.

Archer nodded. "All right, a compromise. We'll go closer and try to contact them."

* * *

Hoshi lost track of the signal when they arrived in the Cekatian system, their instruments too blunt to trace it through the blurr of communications in the region. But they had been able to reach someone in charge of an organised planetary-wide government body, only to find out that the organisation was mostly symbolic.

"Our world is divided up into many countries, each one with a separate government," the leader, Jsem, said, her voice partially obscured by the static interfering with her audio signal. "If the transmission is coming from Cekatia, as you believe, then it could very well be coming from one of them, or even from a rogue faction."

"But this type of technology is within your capabilities?" Archer asked, standing in front of his chair and staring up at the blank screen.

"It could be," Jsem said. "We do have some nations that are quite technologically advanced. Hold on, please." Trip heard the sound of fingers tapping a keyboard before the voice continued. "Yes, yes. Let me send you a list of countries which may be capable of this type of technology."

* * *

Trip sat beside Malcolm's bed in sickbay, explaining the situation to his friend despite the fact that Malcolm hadn't responded in over ten minutes of conversation â€“ and from what Phlox had said, hadn't spoken or moved all day. And yet the doctor told him that the drugs had passed through Malcolm's system, and he was awake. So Trip was talking. He wasn't sure that Malcolm was listening, but still, he was talking.

"So it's this huge planet," Trip said, looking to see if Malcolm had opened his eyes yet. "And we have no idea where the signal is coming from." He watched his friend for a moment, then stood. "You know? I should get back to work, see if we can figure out â€“"

"I can show you," Malcolm said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" Trip asked, stepping closer to his friend.

"I can see it," Malcolm said, eyes still shut.

Trip tensed. "What do you mean?" When he didn't get a response, he tried again. "You said you can see it. What do you see?" Desperate to get Malcolm to respond, he brushed his friend's cheek with a finger. "Malcolm. Stay with me. Where is the signal coming from?"

Malcolm didn't answer, and Trip figured he'd drifted away again. After a moment, though, Malcolm held out a hand and pointed. "Here."

Trip's heart skipped a beat. "Could you, um. If I had a map, could you show me?"

Malcolm opened his eyes, trapping Trip in his gaze. "No. I have to go with you."

And Trip believed him.

* * *

They found the building on the outskirts of a city in a country that, as recently as a few months ago, was being ripped apart by war. Now there was a tentative peace and Trip could see the beginnings of recovery â€“ new structures going up, roads being repaired. Still, it had meant that most of the infrastructure was iffy at best, and they'd been unable to contact the local government â€“ in fact, they'd been unable to reach anyone in the region except by walking right in there.

They'd come with a minimal team â€“ just Trip, Malcolm, and two MACOs, deciding that it would be too much of a risk to bring others with them. They'd landed on the far edges of the city and since then had been walking along dusty roads, passing war-damaged structures and tired, dusty green Cekatians who barely paid them any heed.

Wherever they were going in this city, Malcolm was leading them right to it. He'd been walking just in front of Trip this entire time â€“ walking with surety and grace, knowing exactly where he was headed. It was more than eerie.

An hour or so into their hike, Malcolm stopped in front of a long, low building and simply stood there.

"Is this it?" Trip asked.

Malcolm nodded. "They're really..." He lifted a hand to his ear. "It's loudest here." He took a step forward, then stopped again. "Here."

Trip moved past him and pushed open the door. "Hello?" he spoke into the darkness. His voice echoed back to him, and he could feel a MACO at his back.

A voice answered, "Yes?" and a man stepped into the shaft of sunlight being cast through the door.

Trip introduced himself, handing the man the letter of introduction that he'd received from Jsem. He quickly explained the situation, and the man, Voleb, stepped out into the sunlight. "Yes, during the war there had been one faction, based here, actually, who was trying to 'recruit'..." He pursed his lips, emphasizing that last word. "...People off-world, mostly those with skills in tech and armaments." He glanced at Malcolm, who was sitting on the stoop, his back to them both. "Although I have to admit, I don't recognise your species."

Trip nodded, unwilling to volunteer anything that he didn't have to.

Voleb continued. "If they had to leave someone behind, they used a device designed to note that person's brainwave patterns. Later, they'd be able to use a signal to hone in, so they'd know where their recruitee was, and they could come back and get them."

"That process has made my friend ill," Trip said.

"Yes, it was designed for use on my people, not yours."

"Is there a way to stop it?"

Voleb smiled, revealing a series of pointed blue teeth. "Yes. Well, theoretically." He grimaced. "It works on Cekatians, anyway."

Trip nodded and stepped away for a moment, sitting at Malcolm's side on the stone step. "How you doing?"

"Brilliant, thanks for asking," Malcolm replied with a grin that stretched, wide and fake, across his face. He dropped the smile abruptly.

"Did you hear all that?"

"All â€“ which thing? It's awfully loud here. There's a lot of..." Malcolm lifted both hands and waved them around his head.

"What Voleb was saying. That he thinks he can stop this."

"Yeah," Malcolm replied, looking out over the dusty road.

"It doesn't sound like â€“"

"I want to," Malcolm said quickly. "I have to."

Trip sat there a moment, staring at his friend's profile. Finally, in a soft voice, he said, "All right."

* * *

Voleb lead them through the dark building, each room lit only by the light streaming through the small windows, dust motes floating as they passed through the dim spaces. Finally, they reached a room flooded with light. Trip could hear the pound and hum of a generator, and smell the fuel used to operate it.

"He should sit there," Voleb said, waving one green arm towards a chair in the small room.

Voleb threaded his way through stacks of equipment, then began setting up some sort of apparatus on a table next to the chair. As the MACOs took up positions around the room, Malcolm sat. Trip squatted beside him, one eye on the busy Voleb. "Are you sure about this?" Trip asked Malcolm.

"Yes." Malcolm nodded. "No choice."

Voleb said, "If you could step back," so Trip gave Malcolm's arm a pet, then moved away. The next thing he knew, there was a flash and a huge "whoosh", and by the time he could see again, Malcolm was lying unconscious on the floor. Trip dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse. He only realised that he'd been holding his breath once he found one.

In time with the beat under his fingers, he murmured a soft prayer: "Thank God. Thank God. Thank God."

* * *

Beep...Beep...Beep. The sound kept repeating, tugging him up to the surface with each pulse, letting him sink again between beats. Beep...Beep...There was a swirl of soft voices around him, too low to understand. Beep...He didn't care anyway and, too tired to focus, he let himself drift.

Beep...Beep...Beep. The sound dragged him towards wakefulness again. Then he heard an irritated voice, and his eyes snapped open.

"Bloody hell. How can a bloke get any sleep around here? Too damn loud."

Trip felt a slow smile creep over his face and he straightened in his chair, trying to see past the crowd surrounding a nearby biobed. Sure enough, Malcolm was lying on his back, his bed surrounded by sickbay staff. His eyes were open and he was...Trip shifted to see around one particularly large nurse â€“ Malcolm looked tired, yes, but otherwise...good.

Trip kept watching as a tech turned off one of the monitors, cutting off the "beeping," and others took readings and made notes. Phlox stepped forward and began speaking to Malcolm. "Good to have you back with us, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm's soft reply was lost in the sounds of sickbay, although things quieted just enough for Trip to hear the end of Phlox's next question, "...voices?"

Malcolm looked directly at Trip as he answered the doctor's question in a firm, clear tone. "Gone." He smiled. "They're gone."

Trip looked back at him, knowing that his own smile was probably a match of his friend's. As their gazes held and the moment extended, Trip knew that he should probably say something deep and significant. Something meaningful that could sum up what they'd both been through. Something suitably profound.

But what?

And then he found it, and so he leaned forward, grinning, and said that one, perfect word.

"Cool."


End file.
